Page 138 of Wicked Minds
It slayed me to see, and it tears me open now to relive it.
I can question everything else, but there’s no arguing with that. No faking that level of emotion. That despondency. The anguish and shattered pain.
The exact same breaking I saw in the food court that day.
It makes me wonder how I never saw it before, except I know why… because I was too chicken shit to properlylook. Point blank refused to acknowledge it. It was easier to live inside my hatred for her—for what she’d done—than to admit there could be an alternative truth.
Even in my denial, she was spot-on with her accusation. From the moment I laid eyes on her in that club, I’vewantedher. Even knowing who she was and what she’d done. I didn’t care, because all those long-buried feelings I’d had for her so long ago came rushing forward with a newfound vengeance. A thirst to be buried between her thighs, to hear her pleasurable moans and the sound of my name on her lips as she comes.
It’s easier to hate her. It’salwaysbeen easier to hate her.
But that doesn’t mean I don’twanther.
Even now. Even just having had her.
I can still smell her scent on me. On my dick, which is already pumping with vigor. Sweet. Enticing. Juicy.Salivating.
I was convinced fucking her in that field—wild and uncontained—would get it—her—out of my system. Instead, it was the first bite into the poisoned apple. One taste, and I was hooked. Primed to come back for seconds. Thirds. Fourths. Fifths.
Will I ever get enough?
In the next instant, my hand is around my cock, which is still damp from the remnants of us. It only heightens my desire as I stroke along my length, remembering the feel of her pressed up against me. The fire in her eyes as she taunted me.
Even knowing the truth, you still have a hard-on for me.
Damn fucking right.
It was like my dick and my head were functioning on entirely different brain waves—still are.
My brain says everything is so fucked up. That I’ve caused her enough damage. That myfamilyhas inflicted enough pain.
Yet my dick is screamingmine, mine, mine,loudly and repeatedly until it infiltrates my senses, taking over every reasonable thought as I plunge into her.
What is it about this woman? No one else has ever gotten to me the way she does. She’s drop-dead gorgeous, but good looks aren’t enough to drive me this fucking insane. She’s shy and reserved but also sassy and fierce. One moment, she’ll be cowering beneath my anger, and the next, she’ll be tossing me on my back with her own flames. I never know what I’m going to get with her. I love to hate her, and maybe… just maybe, I hate to love her, too.
I remain lost in my thoughts, processing everything, yet nothing at all. I hear Royce’s truck coming down the road and parking outside. Hear the slam of his door as he gets out, followed by the sound of his key in the lock.
He bangs around downstairs for a bit before all falls quiet. I don’t expect him to knock on my door or anything. That isn’tRoyce’s style. He’ll leave me to brood until I’m ready to show my face. Thank god Logan isn’t in the house, or he’d have followed me up here, talking non-stop about what an idiot I’ve been and how much groveling I will have to do if I want to be in Riley’s good books.
Do I even want to be in her good books, though?
Is that somewhere I want to be?
I don’t even fucking know.
Hours pass, spent staring at my ceiling. At some point, I heard Logan come home, the two of them probably talking downstairs.
I realize now that they both knew. That must have been what spooked Royce on Christmas Day. It explains why he was so bent out of shape that day in the food court.
With a bone-tired groan, I shove upright. Resting my elbows on my knees, I cover my face with my hands and take a moment to gather myself. I know I need to go down and talk to them. Before I can muster the courage myself, Logan’s voice bellows up the stairs.
“Yo, fuckface! Stop being a chickenshit and get your ass down here!”
Rolling my eyes, I know there’s nothing else for it as I push to my feet and exit the room. Each step is laden as I descend the stairs, following the sound of their voices into the kitchen.
Both of them turn to look at me as I step into the room and Logan smirks. “About time, asshole.”
I’m not sure whether he’s referring to me showing my face, Riley spilling her guts to me, or the grim acceptance probably etched into my solemn expression.
